


Muddy Broken Hearts

by narcissablaxk



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst fic, Anna in Washington's camp, Edmund under torture, F/M, set in canon!, sorry in advance I suppose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:12:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7610428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He took her hand in his and started gently cleaning the dirt off of them. The gesture was domestic, intimate, and she felt a blush rising up her neck as he gently pressed the material into the soft skin of her wrist, wiping it clean. She imagined he could do that with her sins, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muddy Broken Hearts

Anna’s skirts whispered against the dead leaves of fall as she trudged up the hill to Whitehall. Her hands were caked with now dried mud from the Sound, her boots heavy with it. The moon was high in the sky, the glowing orb a bright orange. It was a harvest moon, she recollected almost absently. Her eyes lingered on the stars, on the constellations that Major Hewlett; no, Edmund, she corrected herself, showed to her. She could find them easily now, among the dark velvet of the sky. 

It was her ritual now, to go to the dead drop twice a month for any information that Caleb could give her. He would tell her what to listen for, and she would focus her attentions on the people who could give it to her. But tonight – tonight had been different. 

“Abraham told me,” he said carefully, “about that British major.” 

Anna, a smile still perched on her face from the sight of her friend, stiffened. “What about him?” 

“He’s worried about you, Anna –”

“He’s not worried, he’s possessive, there’s a difference –”

“So you do mean to marry him, then?” Caleb’s voice had quickly risen to an almost shout, and Anna quickly shushed him. 

“So what if I do?” she pressed him. “He’s kind, and charitable, and intelligent –”

“He’s a British officer!” Caleb exclaimed. 

“And I’m essentially a widow!” she shouted back. “What does it matter?” 

Caleb shook his head. “I don’t understand. Why – why would you offer yourself up like this?” 

“Offer myself?” she repeated. “You think – you think I’m just – what? Giving my body up because I can? What kind of woman do you take me for, Brewster?” 

He had earned a few slaps from her after that comment, but he couldn’t find the words to explain. 

“Annie, you should only marry the man you love,” he was pleading with her now, his own dirty hands in hers. “The cause would never ask this of you.” 

She didn’t say anything to that, didn’t trust herself. What would Caleb do with the information if he knew? What would he take back to Ben? She would be stuck to Edmund’s side after that, using him explicitly for his information, if they knew she loved him. So she said nothing. She pushed herself away from Caleb, from one of her oldest friends, and she left him there, standing in the mud, calling for her. 

She had no new orders. She had nothing but the lingering bitter taste of disappointment. 

She huffed against the exertion of the hill climb and the angry tears running down her frigid cheek. The temperature had dropped too low for comfort, and she wished she had the forethought to bring her shawl with her. 

Whitehall was quiet, the heavy atmosphere of sleep lingering in the halls. She let the silence calm her, wiping the tears from her cheeks as she slid her shoes off and held them to climb the stairs. It wouldn’t do to leave her dirty footprints all the way to her room, after all. 

She paused as she passed Edmund’s room. How easy would it be to tell him everything, to give him the whole truth? How easy would it be to pack everything and leave tonight, leave everything behind? She sighed at her folly. It would be impossible, she chided herself. Completely impossible. 

But her feet still carried her to his door, and she was knocking quietly in spite of her thoughts. If anything, she rationalized, she needed to see him to make herself feel better. 

It was hedonistic, and selfish, but she had already knocked. It was too late to turn back now. 

He wasn’t wearing his wig, and his eyes were bleary. She shivered visibly, the chill still stuck in her spine. “Anna?” he whispered, opening the door a little wider. “What – is something wrong?” 

The sight of his sleep slackened face, the wrinkles playing around his brow at the look on her face, and the soft gaze of his adoration was too much for her suddenly. “N-nothing,” she stammered, stepping away from him and turning toward her bedroom. “I – I am sorry I bothered you.” 

“Anna, wait,” he called after her as she tried to flee. “You – you’re covered in mud. You look upset. Are you alright?” She could see the protectiveness in his eyes, the trained instinct of a soldier coming to the fore. He was used to having to find things that were out of place. 

The damned mud. She cursed herself and tried to wipe her hands on her skirt. “I’m fine. I just – I’m fine.” 

“Please, come in,” he motioned to his room, and Anna allowed him to lead her into his most private of spaces. He moved toward the wash basin in the corner of the room and dipped a handkerchief in it. He took her hand in his and started gently cleaning the dirt off of them. The gesture was domestic, intimate, and she felt a blush rising up her neck as he gently pressed the material into the soft skin of her wrist, wiping it clean. She imagined he could do that with her sins, too. “You seem, I mean, forgive me for saying so, but you seem distressed.” 

The possibility of spilling the truth was too real now; the words were on the edge of her lips. Anna felt herself backtracking. “I – uh, I just went for a walk and I – I fell.” 

“You went for a walk?” Edmund was almost aghast, and his dramatic tone drew a smile from her reluctant mouth. “At this time of night?” 

She sighed, her flimsy excuse bringing a blush to her face. “I’m sorry, Edmund, that was a lie.” 

“A – a lie?” he seemed so shocked that she could lie at all, and that faith only increased the pressure in her chest. “Why would you lie?” 

She closed her eyes against his gentle tone. “Edmund, I – I uh –” she faltered, her breath expelling all of itself at once. 

“You’re being very mysterious,” he noted. “And with the newfound information of Abraham being a spy, mystery is not something we need to be experiencing right now. What is going on?”

She sighed. “I don’t want to lie to you anymore.” Was she finally going to tell him the whole truth? Would he pull a gun on her like he did on Abe? She was dangling over a cliff face, trying to decide if she was going to let go or pull herself back up so she could dust herself off and pretend like she hadn’t come so close to the abyss. 

He furrowed his brow, his hand on hers stilling. “I never want you to have to lie to me,” he agreed. “What’s going on?” He directed her to the chair by his desk, kneeling in front of her. She turned her head away from him, avoiding his eyes. “Anna.” 

A loud thump from downstairs froze them both. Was someone knocking? Their eyes met, pushed into silence. The sound of the front door creaking open sent them both immediately into overdrive. She wrenched her hands from his, wiping them on her skirts again, gliding as quietly as she could away from him.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she said, moving quickly toward the door. 

“I agree,” he answered, almost running over her sentence. “Improper.” His hand pressed into her lower back, guiding her to the door. He reached around her to grab the doorknob, but the sound of boots coming up the stairs stopped him. Anna put her hand over his on the doorknob, ceasing his movements. She was the last person to come up the stairs; everyone else was already asleep. 

“It’s probably just Abraham,” Edmund reassured her, his other hand landing on her shoulder gently, tentatively, as he registered her stiffened shoulders. “Just wait until he goes into his room and you’ll be free to go to yours.” 

“Edmund –”

“Don’t fret, my love, there’s always tomorrow to talk about this,” he said softly, gracing her with another smile that she didn’t deserve. She opened her mouth to respond, but the boots coming up the stairs were growing in volume, and she quickly snapped her jaw shut to listen. 

The cadence of the steps didn’t sound like Abe’s, now that she listened more closely. She leaned against the door, her ear pressed to the wood, listening for the sound of his and Mary’s door closing. 

The sound never came. The steps, slow and sinister in nature, crept down the hall, close to Anna’s room, and then to Edmund’s. 

“I don’t think that’s Abraham,” Anna breathed, moving swiftly away from the door. Edmund, recognizing the fear in her voice, quickly grabbed her wrist and forced her behind him. 

“Get my pistols from the desk,” he growled into her ear, pushing her toward the wooden furniture. She fumbled with the desk, her fingers trembling. Who would be coming for Edmund in the middle of the night? Abraham wouldn’t be so bold to try to kill him in his father’s home. Caleb wouldn’t come looking for her. 

She realized who it was as soon as she pressed the pistol into Edmund’s hand and the door flew open. It really could only have been one person. 

Simcoe. 

He was bloody, battle-worn, a bandage around his upper arm, his hair disheveled. His eyes, already terrifyingly wide, were wider than usual, but with rage or madness, she couldn’t tell. Edmund let out a yelp of surprise. 

“Simcoe,” he choked out. 

“Surprised to see me?” Simcoe’s high voice sent an electrifying jolt through Anna’s veins, and she tightened her hold on the pistol in her hand. She didn’t know how to use it. Simcoe’s eyes shifted to Anna, and amusement flickered behind his eyes for a moment. 

“Mrs. Strong,” he said graciously, having the audacity to bow, his bayonet in his hand saluting her. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you here.” 

“A fiancée is allowed to spend time alone with her betrothed,” Anna snapped. Edmund’s eyes met hers over his shoulder for a moment. Simcoe momentarily faltered, his eyes flickering between the two of them, and the momentary jab was satisfying, but Anna knew they would pay for it.

“What is going on?” Abraham’s voice was a welcome break in the tension. 

“Oh, Mr. Woodhull, how nice of you to join us,” Simcoe said joyfully, grabbing Abe by the shoulder and shoving him into the room. He stumbled, and Anna’s other hand had to catch him before he completely lost his balance. He righted himself and seemed to realize suddenly who had caught him. 

“Anna?” 

She shook her head, cutting off the rest of his questions.

“What are you doing here?” Edmund asked, his voice still a low growl. His hand around the gun was steady, but Anna could see the nerves in the tension in his free hand, clenching and unclenching. Simcoe would notice that too. 

“I can see why you would ask that,” Simcoe noted with a grin that raised the hairs on Anna’s neck, “since you fully intended for me to die in my search for Culper.” 

The whole room seemed to stand still for a moment; Simcoe’s eyes went from Edmund’s, to Anna’s, to Abraham’s. She struggled to maintain eye contact with him, but his gaze told her that he already suspected her, too. 

“I – I don’t know what you mean,” Edmund stammered, but Simcoe was already smiling again, and Anna knew this was a lost cause. “I gave you the name Culper and his whereabouts so that you could catch him.” 

“And I just so happened to get ambushed there,” Simcoe snapped, his smile suddenly gone. The room seemed to drop several degrees in temperature. Edmund took a half-step back. “You expect me to believe that you didn’t have anything to do with that?” 

“I didn’t!” 

Simcoe grimaced almost sympathetically. “Oh, come on, Major, you can do better than that.” 

Anna knew where this was going, even if Edmund refused to see it. With a shaking hand, she raised the pistol in her hand. “It’s time for you to go, Captain.” 

Simcoe eyed the pistol with distaste. “Mrs. Strong, that would be…inadvisable.” 

“Anna, put the gun down,” Abe ordered, his hand reaching for her wrist. She turned halfway to him, betrayed, but did not lower the gun. 

“Truly, I am sorry that your mission went poorly,” Edmund interjected, trying to step in front of Anna once more, “but I gave you all of the information that I had.” His eyes met hers for a moment, and she could see the terror there. Even now, she knew he wasn’t scared for himself. 

He was scared for her.

Simcoe considered his statement, his lips pursed. “Major, you would think by now you would be finished trying to placate me with your lies.” He stepped toward him, and Anna felt the pressure of the situation rising. 

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot!” she shouted, brandishing the weapon again. Simcoe’s eyes landed on the barrel of the gun smoothly, easily, and he studied it for a moment before he stepped closer to her. 

“Do it, then,” he challenged, stepping close enough that the barrel pressed against his chest. “Right here would suffice,” he said absently. “Right through the heart.” 

Anna clenched her jaw, trying to work up the courage to pull the trigger. As much as she wanted him to die, the lingering fear that it wouldn’t work, that he would only use that as his next excuse to kill everyone she loved, stayed her hand. 

She had stayed still too long; Simcoe’s hand closed over the barrel and he yanked it away from her, his other hand slapping her clean across the face. She staggered, the brunt of the attack sudden and overwhelming, and stumbled to the floor. Her hands took the majority of her fall, but her knees landed roughly on the wood. 

“Anna!” 

“Uh uh, Major, you’re coming with me,” Simcoe’s voice had lost its lightness, and even without looking, Anna knew Edmund was facing a weapon. She rushed to her feet, her head swimming with the sudden change in posture. She moved toward Simcoe, who had already turned his back to her. She was without a weapon, but it didn’t matter – as long as Edmund got away. She reached her arms out for Simcoe’s neck, content to attempt to strangle him, but her fingers just brushed the edge of his collar before she was being pulled forcibly back. 

Abraham’s arms had looped around hers and he yanked her against his chest, pulling her safely away from Simcoe. Simcoe’s eyes turned to her over his shoulder, amusement clouding his features. Rage grew within her; of course he would find her struggle amusing, of course he would mock her, even now. 

Simcoe’s hand, still holding the barrel of the pistol Anna had been holding, swung and caught Edmund around the mouth. She felt the blood land delicately on her skin. It felt so mundane; like raindrops, but when she opened her mouth and tasted it, it drove her mad.

She screamed, her voice tearing with the force of it, struggling against Abraham’s hold as Simcoe shoved Edmund through the door and out of her sight. 

“No!” 

“Anna, you can’t,” Abraham grunted. “He’ll kill you.” 

“Let him!” 

The sound of boot against flesh met her ears and she struggled anew. “Edmund!” she shrieked, her voice breaking. “Let me go!” She elbowed Abraham in the ribs, and he stumbled backward, pulling her with him.

“You can’t,” he kept saying, and it turned into a mantra, into a lullaby, but she was not soothed. 

“I will never – never – forgive you,” she panted as the door closed and Abe went slack against her. She had so much more to say, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t process this, and her sobs robbed her of her voice. She had no choice but to collapse once more onto the floor and hope that the world would stop beating her down long enough to let her get back up. 

***

“I’m not going,” Anna’s voice was ragged, rough from her tears. Mary noticed the sound and turned away from her, guilt clouding her features. “You can’t make me.” 

Abraham clenched his jaw and sighed. “I don’t want you to, but you need to. Simcoe saw you protect Hewlett, and if he comes back, it’ll be for you.” 

Anna felt tears choking her again at the sound of his name. “He’ll only come for me if Edmund is dead.” 

“Exactly.” 

Anna blinked past the burning of her eyes. After hours of shedding tears, she was sure her eyes were puffy and red. “By then I won’t care.” 

“God dammit, Anna, you can’t just do this,” Abraham exploded, and Mary jumped. Birds roosting in the trees took flight. “You can’t just give up because of one setback.” 

“Setback?” she was incredulous, her anger reigniting. 

“Yes, a setback, because that’s what this was – a job, and Hewlett was a liability. I understand that you were attached –”

“Attached.” 

“Stop – stop repeating what I’m saying,” he admonished her, and his eyes cast back out to the Sound. “I understand that you were attached to him, but things will move easier without him. And with him gone, Simcoe will leave Setauket for good.” 

“You know I wasn’t attached to him,” she said stubbornly. 

Mary turned back to them again, having composed herself. Abraham turned his gaze to his wife for a moment for help before looking back at Anna. 

“I want you to say it,” she demanded. 

Abraham shrugged and turned away from her, fixing his beanie over his ear. Anna eyed it with furious distaste. 

“You owe me that much,” she said. 

He turned swiftly back to her. “I owe you nothing!” he shouted. “I kept you alive! Without me, you’d be dead!” 

“You expect me to thank you for that?” she snapped, her eyes pinning him in place. “For taking away my chance at saving Edmund?” 

“I don’t expect a thank you, but I shouldn’t –”

“Shouldn’t what?” Anna pressed. “Shouldn’t have to say what he really meant to me? Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?” 

He shook his head, his gaze falling from hers. “Because I don’t believe it.” 

She could hear the boat, bearing Caleb, coming up the shore. She refused to turn to it. She was besieged on one side and being attacked on the other. Her only ally was gone, probably dead by now. The thought almost crippled her. 

“I loved him,” she said firmly to Abraham as Caleb’s boots hit the water. “And you can choose to not believe it for as long as you like. But that doesn’t change it.” 

“Annie,” Caleb’s voice was gentle, but she wasn’t in the mood. 

“Don’t,” she snapped, stepping into the boat and turning away from them all. 

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Caleb’s voice was barely heard over the sound of the waves, and Anna had to clench her hands into fists to keep herself from answering. 

“Simcoe lived,” Abraham answered, and his voice was so calm that Anna tightened her jaw, “blamed Hewlett for the ambush and dragged him out of the house last night.” 

“Shite.” 

“And Anna tried to stop him,” Mary added. “So be nice.” 

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Woodhull,” Caleb answered. “I’ll be good to our Annie.” There was a pause. “She looks –”

Anna managed to keep her anger in check until she heard Mary finish the statement. 

“Broken,” she answered. “She looks broken.” 

The tears fell fast and hot after that, an unstoppable storm that she couldn’t calm. Perhaps she was. Broken, that is.


End file.
